Discussions, Comments and Notes

This html article is produced from an uncorrected text file through optical character recognition. Prior to 1940 articles all text has been corrected, but from 1940 to the present most still remain uncorrected.  Artifacts of the scans are misspellings, out-of-context footnotes and sidebars, and other inconsistencies.  Adjacent to each text file is a PDF of the article, which accurately and fully conveys the content as it appeared in the issue.  The uncorrected text files have been included to enhance the searchability of our content, on our site and in search engines, for our membership, the research community and media organizations. We are working now to provide clean text files for the entire collection.

Rear Admiral Andre Jubelin,* French Navy.—Readers of a magazine such as yours Presumably expect that historical accounts herein published will be as nearly histori­cally correct as possible. Although I am not ^ln a position to testify personally on the "hole of the article, with reference to two ^events which the author describes, I was ^r'ght on the spot when and where they occurred, and I offer the following correc­tions.

On page 1304, it is stated that: “The Naval brigade Far East was established in 1945. ts first elements disembarked at Saigon on ctober 19, participating in the liberation of ^{1 1e} city.” I was the Commanding Officer of . first French ship which brought to that cjty the commando assigned to strengthen _Tf?^eral Gracey’s two companies of Gurkhas.

his commando which we called “Com­mando Ponchardier” from the name of its commanding officer, was to distinguish itself a ter in several engagements in the Delta, fic ship I was commanding, the light cruiser Triomphant, came alongside the " ^a*S°ⁿ pier at exactly 1800 of October 5, Tn, and not on the nineteenth. Nearly all °t the French population, that is to say, ^aPproximately 5,000 persons, were there, crying and shouting for joy. The city was ieing besieged by Vietminh troops estimated ³y General Gracey to be 14,000 strong. They were threatening the city. The Commando °nchardier landed within the hour of our arrival and was placed on the outer perimeter °f the city. The very next day my ship was

(Editor’s Note: Admiral Jubelin is the French Mai Attache in Washington, D. C.)  • ready to start long-range shelling while I landed another commando of 71 men taken from my own crew. An error of fourteen days has therefore slipped into the account of these events.

At that time no other name had been as­signed to the Commando Ponchardier, so it is perhaps not incorrect to say that the Naval Brigade Far East had not yet disembarked, although, as a matter of fact, this commando was part of the naval forces assigned to ground fighting and which later were called Naval Brigade Far East. The main point is that the Commando Ponchardier disem­barked on October 5.

On the same page, further down, I read that: “ . . . when this force attempted to ascend the river to Haiphong, the port of Tonkin, on March 6, it was met with intense Chinese fire, and the French supporting flotilla was forced to withdraw. Later, follow­ing negotiations with the Nationalist Chi­nese, agreement was reached. ...”

I was in command of the convoy bringing the 23,000 French troops which were to re­place the 28,000 Chinese occupying Tonkin. The only man-of-war heading this important convoy was my own ship, the light cruiser Triomphant. It is true she met with fire on her arrival in the Haiphong River, but we were not “forced to withdraw.” On the con­trary, acting according to orders from my Government, I steamed up 26 minutes with­out answering the fire of the Chinese, and it was only when my ship had been seriously damaged that I took matters in my own hands and opened fire with the guns of the Triomphant. She was then in the harbor of Haiphong itself.

The white flag was hoisted by the Chinese six minutes after the Triomphant began firing. The sole fact that the white flag was flown by the Chinese Plenipotentiaries who had, by then, come down to the quay, is proof enough that the French supporting flotilla was not “forced to withdraw.”

Following is the text of the citation awarded my ship for her part in that engage­ment:

“Ordered to escort the convoy of French troops sent to the relief of Tonkin, she came under sus­tained fire at the mouth of the river, but did not reply for twenty-six minutes, in conformity with her orders, despite severe losses and much dam­age. On opening fire to save his ship, the Com­manding Officer silenced the enemy’s batteries in six minutes, thus carrying out under heavy fire a bold and difficult manoeuvre in order to pre­serve the merchantmen placed under his pro­tection.”

This error is serious for it allows the reader to suppose that the Chinese accepted the return of French troops to Tonkin through negotiations. That there were negotiations is a fact, but the agreement took place only after the hoisting of the white flag of sur­render by the Chinese. In other words, they surrendered to strength. They had good reasons for doing so, and I trust that history will one day tell the truth; one may wonder if they did not receive the backing of odd political advisers to dare defy so openly our return to Indochina.

Distortion of historical events of such recent date should not be' allowed, and I should therefore be most appreciative of any attention given my request for the correction of the details of these two events.

Leadership Among Junior Naval Officers

(See page 688, December, 1953, and page 1296, June, 1954, Proceedings)

Lieutenant Commander J. L. Boyes, U. S. Navy.—I view with increasing con­cern the repeated implications that a weak­ness in our Navy is the lack of leadership displayed by our junior officers. Two articles in the Proceedings of late tell of the de­creased authority of chief petty officers and further rationalize that junior officers are in part to blame.

It appears that since the end of World War II an odd philosophy of finding fault . has been developed and that as a result of

this philosophy numerous articles have been written pointing the finger of crimination at senior officers, junior officers, and petty officers. Occasionally, as if to prove by ex­ample, statements are made as to the high quality of leadership that existed in the services prior to World War II, contrasted to the mediocrity of our leadership today. I wonder about such erudite statements of this nature, for to accept them per se implies that these Pre-World War II sires failed genetically to pass their leadership attributes to their young. To make-out the junior officer as the “GOAT” for the supposed lackings in the system today is most irresponsible and reflects on their progenitors.

The continuous harping about lost pres­tige, authority, and responsibility connotes a certain lack of courage and high leadership qualities in those who decry so vociferously. When a person notes that he is by-passed in the chain of command perhaps the person directly concerned was not dependable, force­ful or of sufficient courage to express his rights and responsibilities in the “CHAIN” or to ensure respect by example.

While the junior officer may be the middle link that holds the chain together, do not the top and bottom links hold fast the ship and anchor? Personally I greatly admire our junior officers. I know with proper guidance that they, as the heart of our Navy, do a wonderful job.

Would it not be more beneficial to our service for us to be more aware of our own responsibilities, up and down, in order that the young and inexperienced might profit! It might be well for all servicemen to dust off and review Naval Leadership, and act ac­cordingly in lieu of writing or speaking so much.

A Commander for China

(See page 1366, December, 1954, Proceedings)

Professor Hyman Kublin, Brooklyn College.—Captain Richard O. Patterson has very graphically recounted the naval career of Phil McGiffin in his “A Commander for China.” To the account of the tragic demise of McGiffin an equally tragic note may be added.

By legislation passed by the Congress in 1862 the United States extended to the government of Japan the privilege of enroll- ^lng a small number of her citizens in the United States Naval Academy. In all seven­teen Japanese were to enter the Academy between the years 1869 and 1906, when the Practice was terminated. About half of these students completed their courses of study and pursued thereafter distinguished careers ¹¹¹ the naval service of their country.

When McGiffin arrived at Annapolis in 1^77, three Japanese were also beginning their training as cadet midshipmen. Uriu Sotokichi and Serata Tasuka were gradu­ated with the Class of 1881, while Enouye Yonosuke left the Academy in 1880. All must have known McGiffin and have been ob­servers of his memorable escapades. Both Enouye and Uriu were to rise rapidly in the Imperial Japanese Navy, retiring ultimately ^after having attained the rank of vice­admiral. Serata’s career was no less illustri­ous; at the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War in 1894, he received the command of a cruiser and shortly thereafter participated ■n the Battle of the Yalu. McGiffin and Serata, former classmates at Annapolis, thus opposed one another in the first modern naval encounter.

As Captain Patterson has revealed, Phil McGiffin was to take his own life after hav- ‘ng been badly wounded while serving aboard the Chen Yuen. Equally tragic was the fate of Serata. Injured also in the Battle of the ^ alu, he succumbed to his wounds in 1900.

Columbus Landed on Caicos

(See page 1101, October, 1954, Proceedings)

John Lyman.—When Commodore Ver- hoog first published his scholarly analysis of Columbus’ landfall in Guanahani Again (C. de Boer Jr., Amsterdam, 1947), he was obvi­ously not aware of the work of Morison and McElroy. It is interesting to see that, hav­ing given due consideration to their results, he is as strongly convinced as before that he has arrived at a correct solution of the land­fall problem, in spite of the apparently authoritative findings contained in Professor Morison’s Admiral of the Ocean Sea, and in ^sPite of the action taken many years ago by the British Government in renaming Watling Island San Salvador.

At first sight, the analysis of Columbus’ dead-reckoning, as published by my good friend Captain J. W. McElroy, U.S.N.R., in American Neptune, pp. 209-229 (1941), is overwhelming evidence that the great dis­coverer’s landfall was in fact Watling Island. This dead-reckoning had been plotted before (for example, by A. Hastings White in the Nautical Magazine for 1892, pp. 1010-1013), but by introducing a proper account of com­pass variation, Captain McElroy brought Columbus’ task force to a point 9 miles S of Watling at 0200R on 12 October 1492.

However, as pointed out by the late Com­mander Rupert T. Gould, R.N. (who inci­dentally favored Conception Island for the landfall), in the Geographical Journal for May 1943 (pp. 263-265), McElroy’s track­keeping neglects possible leeway. Nearly all the outward run was made in the NE trades on the starboard tack, as shown by the wind arrows on the track chart in the chapter “Landfall” in Admiral of the Ocean Sea, and if Columbus neglected leeway his landfall would have been well to the south of his reckoning. Now it is certainly possible to determine how much leeway a vessel will make under various conditions of trim and relative wind, and it can be argued that a master mariner, even in 1492, would allow for leeway in setting his courses and keeping his log, as master mariners were accustomed to do in Bowditch’s lifetime. So perhaps we should credit Columbus with the navigational skill to detect and eliminate leeway.

But even if we do there is another com­ponent of the dead-reckoning problem that has been neglected, namely current. As any navigator knows, a new fix seldom agrees with the dead-reckoning advanced from the previous fix, even of only a few hours back. And the major source of disagreement re­sults from the motion, relative to the ocean bottom and land, of the surface waters that the ship floats in, a motion that until a few years ago it was impossible to detect from the ship herself. (An instrument called the geomagnetic-eledrokinetograph, invented in 1947 by W. S. von Arx of Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, which records the minute electrical potential set up by the moving sea water in the earth’s magnetic field, now makes direct current-determina­tion possible from a ship under way.) And so an accurate dead-reckoning chart of Colum­bus’ first voyage should show his second fix (Guanahani) separated from his DR at 0200R on 12 October 1492 by an amount equal to the vector sum of all the currents encountered since his previous fix (departure from Gomera).

What are the currents between Gomera and Guanahani? Turn first to the Stream Drift Chart of the World, which is published from time to time on the back of the Hydro­graphic Office Pilot Charts, and which is based on thousands of daily comparisons be­tween fixes and dead-reckoning. Along Co­lumbus’ track from the Canaries to 40° W, the current sets nearly S; from 40° to 50° W, it is about SW; from 50° to 70° it is about W; and from there to the Bahamas it is the Antilles Current, about NW. Appropriate values of drift, likewise compiled from DR- fix comparisons, are available in the Septem­ber and October Charts in H.O. Pub. No. 571, Atlas of Surface Current Charts, North Atlantic Ocean, and are entered in the table at the foot of this page along with their com­puted southerly components.

The westerly component of drift, similarly computed, adds to 96 miles, and shows that Columbus must have overestimated his dis­tance run by an even larger percentage than that with which Captain McElroy credited him.

Both leeway and current, it will be ob­served, tend to set Columbus to the south of his reckoning. There is no known factor that would put his ships to the north of his reckoning unless the magnetic variation for 1492 was more easterly than the values used by McElroy. From the latitude of McElroy’s 0200R position of the 12th to the latitude of Caicos is about 130 miles of southing, and 60% of this distance can be accounted for on the basis of current. The odds thus are 60/40 or 3 to 2 that Commodore Verhoog is correct and that, if the recorded courses and dis­tances are to be trusted, Columbus landed at Caicos.

* * *

Captain P. V. H. Weems, USN., Re­tired.—The Spanish were so busy in the years following the first landing in 1492, and “San Salvador” was so far north of the usual sailing routes that apparently little thought was given to this landfall during the following century. By the time serious thought was given to the place where Colum­bus first stepped ashore, it became a puzzle to identify the exact place of landing.

Since the 12 October 1492 landing of Columbus was the discovery of a new hemi­sphere, it is most natural that until the ques­tion is positively settled, writers and his­torians will continue to delve into the sub­ject. So many eminent authorities have made a careful study of the problem that a great deal of data has been collected and becomes available to new investigators.

Some of the most thorough students of the subject attempt to locate “San Salvador” by back-tracking on the route followed by Columbus from his first landing till he reaches Cuba, the first positive position to be determined without question. Obviously, trying to determine the position of his first 1492 landing by tracking his route across the Atlantic would be illogical. We have no means for knowing the effects of wind and currents on his ships, and we have only the recorded course and speeds which with the methods in use at that time could not have been accurate. Even assuming that Colum­bus determined his latitude with reasonable accuracy, he had no means for finding his longitude which requires an accurate knowl­edge of time.

The most promising method, and that used by Commodore Verhoog, is to collect every possible item of information which is judged to be reliable and then, without bias, Plot this information to any suitable scale on ^a blank sheet of paper. If this is efficiently done and the plotted results fit an accurate chart of the area, then there can be little doubt of its correctness. This is merely fol­lowing the general principle used in finger­print identification, or following the proce­dure in fitting the parts of a picture puzzle.

The trouble of working backwards is that where an island does not appear in the cor­rect position to fit the “sailing directions” ■eft by Columbus, there is a temptation to make written information fit the island; or if the distance does not fit, to question the unit °f distance used; or if too many islands were listed by Columbus and these do not exist rom our assumed position, then just say Columbus was seeing clouds. With so many jslands to select from, and the difficulty of ffientifying an island without question with ^a short description, a seemingly modest multilation of the meagre description left by Columbus would permit many different is­lands to become “San Salvador.”

Having studied the data collected by Com­modore Verhoog, and having seen the origi­nal colored chart he prepared, which is closely reproduced with the article, and having discussed at length with him the work of others and his explanations of why they were mistaken, I am fully convinced that he has finally determined the identity

“San Salvador” to be the Caicos Island group.

“Governor—General or a Hobo?”

Captain Lucius C. Dunn, U. S. Navy (Ret.).—This immortal Navy song, born of those rugged, stirring Days of Empire fol­lowing closely in the wake of the Spanish- American War, was conceived in the talented brain of my esteemed friend, the late Captain Lyman A. Cotten, U. S. Navy (Class of 1898, USNA), who was then a Passed-Midship- man serving afloat in Philippine waters.

Thus the tuneful question “Am I the Governor-General or a Hobo?” has echoed down the United States Navy’s harmony lane for well over a half-century, coming vociferously from wardroom, steerage, and other messes on board our ships cruising the Seven Seas, as well as from our naval activi­ties on shore and high in the air in faraway places round the globe. Indeed, it may be said that this rollicking Navy classic is now included among the musical repertoires of all the Armed Forces of the Nation.

The trials and tribulations of the Gover­nor-General during those early days of the American occupation are colorfully painted by Captain Cotten in his following satirical lyrics:

(1)

Oh, I’ve been sorry every day Since I came to the Philippines,

I’d rather drive a bob-tail car And live on pork and beans;

They call me Governor-General,

I’m the hero of the day,

But I have troubles of my own And often have to say:

(Chorus)

Oh, am I the boss or am I the tool?

Ami the Governor-General or a hobo?

I’d like to know who’s the boss of this show— Is it me, or Emilio Aguinaldo?

(2)

The rebels up at old Tarlac,

Four men to every gun—

I think the trouble’s at an end,

They think it’s just begun;

My men go out to have a fight—

The rebels fade away,

I cable home the trouble’s o’er,

But to myself I say:

Fortunately, Captain Cotten has left us in his own words the following interesting story surrounding his composing and launch­ing forth of this song:

“The above song was written by me while I was a Midshipman serving on the Gunboat Pampanga in the Philippines in the winter of 1899-1900.

At the time General E. S. Otis, U.S.A., was Governor-General of the Philippines, and the in­surrection was going strong, with Emilio Agui­naldo as the President of the so-styled Philippine Republic. Almost every time I sang this song I was asked to write out copies for various people who heard it, as the psychological moment was such as to make it very apt at that time.

Soon it became very popular and widely sung by being passed on from one person to another. It was very seriously frowned upon by the Governor- General’s office, and an effort was made to pre­vent the singing of this song by the people in the service. This apparently had the opposite effect and wherever two or three congenial souls gath­ered together it was sung with much gusto.

Within the next few years I had letters request­ing copies from places as remote as British Army posts in the interior of India, and mining camps in Alaska. A young member of the Astor Battery in the Philippines, after his army service, re­turned to Cornell University to complete his course, and through him “Governor-General or Hobo?” was introduced at Cornell and for years was sung as a Cornell college song.

In writing the “Governor-General or Hobo?”, as in my subsequent songs, I made no effort to originate the music. I took any music that I happened to like and combined it with other music just to suit myself. The basis of the music to “Governor-General or Hobo?” was the English music-hall song with the title, “Am I Mouse or Am I Man?”

Soon after General Otis was succeeded by Gen­eral Arthur MacArthur, as Governor-General, I dined one evening with friends in Manila, and after dinner, sitting on the veranda, was asked to sing “Governor-General or Hobo?” At the con­clusion of the song General MacArthur and some of his staff stepped out from behind some nearby shrubbery. The General was much amused and his attitude was diametrically opposite to that of General Otis.”

And so was born a great Navy song, albeit with an Army slant, full of mirth and legend.

(Editor’s Note: This song appears with many other Navy favorites in the Naval Institute’s recently-pub­lished Book of Navy Songs. For details see the list of Naval Institute publications found on the pages follow­ing Secretary’s Notes in this and in each issue of the Proceedings.)

Sunk

(See page 1165, October, 1954, Proceedings)

Major Edson W. Card, U. S. Marine Corps.—Do I detect a dubious note when reviewer Smith writes, “The former Japanese submariner (Hashimoto) states that Japa­nese flying boats . . . made an attack on Pearl Harbor on March 4, 1942, seven hours after sunset . . . ”? Such attack was, in fact, made. The target error was several miles, however, if Pearl Harbor was the target. The bombs—four, as I recall—landed in the Punch­bowl area of Honolulu. No damage was done, but nearby residents were a little shaken by the incident.

My unit, the 2d Engineer Battalion, 2d Marine Division, was constructing Camp Catlin at the time. We were broken out an hour or so before the attack and went to air raid stations. The plane could be heard as it came in, and antiaircraft searchlights were probing, but I don’t believe it was ever seen because of a heavy overcast at about 1000 feet. No guns opened fire, anyway.

There has always been a bit of mystery about this attack. Whose aircraft was it, or were they? If it were Japanese, where did it come from? Who caused the alert to be passed? The observance of the alert was very spotty—many units having no knowledge of the incident at all.

If Commander Smith had known of this little raid, I’m sure he would have written something like this: “The former Japanese submariner clears up the mystery surround­ing an attack made on Oahu on March 4, 1942, seven hours after sunset. He states that it was made by Japanese flying boats which were refueled by submarines on the way in and again on the return trip to their base.”

(Editor’s Note: Readers of this comment will un­doubtedly be interested in reading “Rendezvous in Reverse,” May, 1953, Proceedings as well as a com­ment which appeared on page 897 of the August, 1953, Proceedings.)

The Case for Case Histories

Lieutenant Commander F. H. Lemly, Jr., USN.—To err is human, to forgive divine, it is said. Shall we add that to profit from the error is a logical sequence to for­giving? It has been the writer’s observation that the naval service has failed, in recent years at least, to reap as large a harvest from the mistakes committed in the area of navigational accidents as might have been expected. Particularly, this has occurred in the field of groundings and collisions.

A survey conducted two years ago with a group of lieutenant commanders revealed large deficiencies in their respective knowl­edges as to the underlying causes of two major navigational casualties, namely the

Missouri grounding and Wasp-Hobson col­lision. These officers comprised a representa­tive cross-section of the surface ship and sub­marine line officer corps of the Navy at a period in their careers in which they would be most concerned with matters of safe navi­gation. Several of them had commanded small ships prior to the survey; others were slated for command in the near future. When the survey was conducted in February, 1953, seventy per cent indicated reasonably sound and correct knowledge of the general reasons for the two major accidents, but there was a great area of confusion as to the proximate causes. Eighty-eight per cent of the group of forty-two officers had to rely upon news­paper accounts of both events for their in­formation. For reasons of accountability and security there are many facts which do not reach the newspapers in matters of this nature. Twenty-one per cent relied on hear­say* (It is noted here that these percentages overlap somewhat.) Of the entire group ninety-three per cent favored wide publica­tion in official media of the details of such accidents. Seventy-nine per cent stated that wide publication via official media had not been accomplished in these two major casualties. Another point developed from the survey was that fifty-five per cent of the group were unable to remark on the perma­nence of the desired information, i.e., ac­cessibility to records of the events. Sixty per cent were unable, perhaps through lack of motivation for the survey, to offer much in­formation concerning other similar accidents of which there are many of lesser degree of unportance upon which to draw.

At the time of the preparation of the sur­vey there were no unclassified versions of the two prominent casualties, although three years had elapsed since the time of the grounding and approximately one year since the collision. Within the type command having cognizance over the grounding only the court-martial proceedings were available for an insight into the case. Information con­cerning the collision was classified and avail­able at fleet headquarters. Two other type commands canvassed unofficially on the sub­ject showed little reaction to either event although both accidents occurred during evolutions common to all types in one fbrm or another, i.e., piloting in restricted inland waters and maneuvering in a carrier forma­tion turning into the wind for air operations. In the grounding case the only attempt at a recapitulation of the accident appeared as a resume of the salvage effort; of dubious value to those who meet head and head at sea and order the chains manned upon enter­ing shoal waters. One fund of naval lore, the Naval War College library and archives, did not have anything on the two accidents except the salvage report of the grounding. From the writer’s personal experience learn­ing the ways of the sea and observing others engaged in a similar pursuit both before and after him, it has become readily apparent that men quickly forget the lessons to be learned from the forbidding experiences of others unless they are emphasized in some manner. In addition, youth has the penchant of questioning every requirement placed upon it for compliance, such as the necessity for extra lookouts upon entering congested waters, the need for a qualified and alert CIC watch officer when navigating fog-bound channels, and the like. Perhaps, the harsh reality of example is the missing ingredient which is required to properly emphasize the points which have been reiterated time and time again. The lives of modern naval officers are filled with specializations which require so much time that the lessons derived from a collision off Queenstown in 1917 are very likely to fall on deaf ears, if they fall at all. We must learn from things which happen in the context of the times in which we live. The lessons must be real. An up to date ap­proach must be taken and the instructions couched in terms of what the modern navi­gator is equipped with to avoid, and, un­fortunately, guide himself into collision or grounding, such as radar and sonic depth finders.

Are these lessons available? Some are, some are not. The two prominent cases dis­cussed earlier are not on record in readily accessible form to the writer’s knowledge, but there are excellent resumes of naviga­tional casualties contained in the NAVPERS 10882 series, entitled Case Instruction, dated April 1952 (Part 1) and 1953 (Part 2). In February of 1953 it was interesting to note that few officers of the group surveyed knew of these pamphlets. Several of the type com­mands of the Atlantic and Pacific Fleets publish information bulletins which focus attention on casualties similar to these and others. Combat Readiness magazine, pub­lished by CNO, often contains similar infor­mation. These are excellent but their lessons must be perpetuated.

Instruction by illustration is a basic and eminently successful teaching technique. A fictitious situation does not have contact appeal; a real problem of current date does have attention-gathering impact. It lives because the event occurred to an officer or ship of a contemporary period with whom each and every line officer can identify him­self. The practice of omitting names from case history accounts is a desirable one to prevent personal embarrassment, but let us not omit the entire incident. Let us learn from it while it is still fresh in consciousness.

The Attack Seaplane, Another Major Naval Weapon

(See page 131, February, 1955, Proceedings)

Captain John V. Noel, Jr., US Navy.— Secretary Smith’s absorbing article “Mobile Sea Base Systems in Nuclear Warfare” touches briefly on a new weapon that promises to reinforce the aircraft carrier thereby giving the Navy two major means of striking the enemy at long range. The Martin XI’6M, recently unveiled at Baltimore and now undergoing trials is a military plane of revolutionary importance. For the first time a water-based airplane not only matches but promises to excel the performance of a con­ventional land-based plane. Ostensibly de­signed as a reconnaissance and mine-laying aircraft, the Martin Seamaster, with its 600- knot speed and ability to operate in moder­ately rough water, should be an excellent medium bomber. Supported by submarines and provided eventually with atom-powered engines the attack seaplane will be a very long range and hard-to-counter vehicle for atomic weapons.

The modern jet seaplane’s ability to land almost anywhere on water will also make it a valuable troop carrier. Rapid deployment of troops and weapons would be insured without the need to build expensive air­strips. Water-based fighters could provide cover and protection for the fast striking, highly flexible troop and logistic moves of the future.

It may well be that the Seamaster will in­troduce a new era of water based aircraft not only to the Armed Forces but for general civilian use as well. As airplanes become larger and larger the weight of the required landing gear looms as a major problem of weight and design. Seaplanes offer a means of avoiding this dilemma although small sacri­fices of efficiency must be made in the fuselage (hull) design of a seaplane to enable it to be seaworthy. There are also certain design considerations in locating the jet engines to avoid the intake of spray that result in something less than theoretically perfect design. But in balancing all these fac­tors of weight of landing gear against de­creased efficiency due to special hull design and location of engines, the scales are found to be tipped in favor of the seaplane. Further­more, instead of expensive concrete runways, seaplanes can use rivers, bays, and lakes, both natural and artificial. It is usually cheaper and quicker to build a shallow arti­ficial lake than it is to build a conventional airfield that can handle our largest land- planes.

Water based aircraft also offer certain marked advantages over land based planes in their ability to meet some of the problems of aircraft nuclear propulsion.

(Editor’s Note: For a photograph and detailed ac­count of the Navy’s increasing seaplane activities see page 601 of this issue of the Proceedings.)

A German Comment on the Story of the Stephen Hopkins

(See page 1254, November, 1954, and page 333, March, 1955, Proceedings)

Vice Admiral Friedrich Ruge, Former German Navy.—The author of this interest­ing article states on page 1257 (November, 1954) that “on some other occasions . . . German raiders tried to eliminate all traces of a victim with machine gun fire after taking survivors as prisoners. As far as I know there is only one such case on record, and that is of a submarine commanded by Lieutenant Heinz Eck who killed survivors because he believed he would be detected otherwise. (Editor’s Note: See “Live Men

^D° Tell Tales,” January, 1952, Proceed­ings.) Eck was captured, placed on trial, and executed after the war. In so far as I know, no German raider fired on men in the water, and as a rule they treated prisoners well.

Quite by chance I recently saw in the illus­trated German paper Der Frontsoldal (March, 1955, pages 87-88) the report of a witness to the heroic fight of the Stephen Hopkins. Under the headline “50000 Seemeilen in 240 1 agen,” Hans Grunert, a member of the crew of the blockade runner Tannenfels wrote, “On September 24, 1942, we were together ^with the raider Slier in the South Atlantic waiting for a tanker. In its place a Liberty ship suddenly appeared at 11 a.m.” Then follows a short description of the fight and foe loss of the Slier. The account continues,

On the German side we had four dead and twenty injured. In spite of a search of two hours we did not find any survivors of the American ship. With our flag at half-mast ^we made a full circle around the spot where the Liberty ship had sunk thus rendering the last honors to our brave adversary.”

When the Navy Ruled Alaska

(See page 198, February 1955, Proceedings)

Thornton Emmons.—Having been born ^ln Sitka and of a naval family, I read with pleasure and interest Lieutenant Crain’s excellent article. However, the popularly-held belief that the transfer Commissioners came ^UP on the John L. Stevens, as mentioned in the footnote, is incorrect. She was a big com­mercial vessel charted to carry up troops and supplies; but the Commissioners went in finer style as guests of the Navy on the USS Ossipee, commanded by my grandfather, the late Rear Admiral George E. Emmons, USN.

His personal journal gives the trip in de­jail, and some of the highlights may be of interest. Following several days of courtesy calls and receptions the vessel left San Fran­cisco September, 27, 1867. Both Russian Commissioners were high naval men, so were perfectly at home, but the American repre­sentative, General G. L. Rousseau, USA, became so seasick my grandfather soon de­cided to head into Puget Sound for the longer but smooth “Inland Passage” from there on. This necessitated a pilot, but the only available one happened to be under contract to take up the little steam yacht Diana. However, her owner promptly sug­gested that the two vessels form a “squad­ron”; and in anticipation of pleasant com­panionship supplied the sumptuously-fitted little craft with “Beef, ham and mutton hanging under the awning, chicken and tur­keys in deck coops, and many boxes of delica­cies, until she looked like a market boat the day before Christmas.” By day she led the way through the isle-studded channel, and at night tied to the anchored Ossipee’s stern. The Commissioners and my Grandfather would then go aboard, dine in style, play chess, and finally end by singing to the accompaniment of a built-in melodion. And with occasional jaunts ashore while waiting for morning fogs to lift, as well as ever ex­cellent fishing, the voyage became a pleasure excursion until the Diana reached her desti­nation some distance below Sitka. The Ossipee reached this latter place October 18th, to find the Stephens already there, along with the other American Navy vessels USS Resaca and USS Jamestown, seven Russian craft, and four commerical vessels.

Although I have never seen the fact brought out elsewhere, the Navy, as well as the Army, participated in the transfer cere­monies at 3:30 that afternoon. Counting marines, about 150 naval men and officers were on the parapet, with a midshipman actually assisting at the flagpole. And the Ossipee, as American flagship, alternated a double 21-gun salute to the two flags with the Russian battery ashore. Naval men also aided in the laborious transfer details during the next few days, taking inventory, survey­ing property, and furthering paper work.